


The "Dirty Direwolf" Letters

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, and dirty future historians annotating those naughty letters, epistolatory, sort of, writing naughty letters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the hundreds of years since her death, nearly all of Sansa Stark's letter have been preserved. While her official letters have served as material for history books and her love letters have inspired poets and romantics for centuries, some were judged by the Westeros Standards and Practices committee as "too obscene" for public consumption. Now that the ban has finally been lifted, the University of Westeros is proud to present the "Dirty Direwolves: A Collection of Erotic Letters by King Jon I Targaryen and Queen Sansa Stark."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "Dirty Direwolf" Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say here except unbeta'd, just a random idea, and it will be updated VERY randomly. Enjoy!

_From the age of seventeen until her death at eighty-eight, the Queen Sansa of House Stark and Targaryen, Lady of Winterfell (the first woman to hold that title in her own right), was a prodigious letter-writer and preserver, who documented and saved nearly every written correspondence she had. While she apparently saved every significant letter she received along with drafts of those she sent, the famous princess was a cautious person. A number of her letters, in the interests of confidentiality and safety, were written in complicated codes and/or under pseudonyms to protect her secrets, many of the codes being those she crafted herself. Upon her death, she wrote in her will that while none of her letters were to be destroyed, some could only ever be read by her descendents. In the four-hundred plus years since her death (as of the publication of this volume), this wish has been respected, with the most secret of these letters kept in a hidden vault within Winterfell only accessible to those with Stark blood. Thankfully, the number of pieces in that collection were small, and the literature that was deemed fit for viewing has provided a vast catalogue of historical material. To this day, the letters of Sansa Stark Targaryen of Winterfell are considered among the most significant and illuminating historical documents in existence._

_While a fair amount of these letters’ contents are often widely distributed and even read and studied in most grade schools, there are certain pieces that, while they were deemed acceptable for viewing by their writer, have been, for various reasons, less widely distributed for public consumption._

_Among these are a number of letters which the queen exchanged with her husband, the legendary Jon of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of Westeros and the Heir of the legendary Queen Daenerys I. Much of the correspondence between the two has been widely distributed, with the more political pieces serving as popular material for scholastic history books, and a number of their love letters being among the most popular and widely quoted romantic writings even to this day._

_However, there is a portion of these letters which, due to many standards and restrictions put in place at various times by the descendants of House Stark and government censorship institutions, have not been approved for public consumption until recently. While translating the messages from their original code has been a popular activity by the top scholars at The University of Winterfell for many a decade, it is only now that the school is able to present to the average reader the writings that many in the UW’s history and literature departments have jokingly referred to as “The Dirty Direwolf” series._

_These messages were written in a unique code by the royal couple, and put under the pseudonyms of “Lord Tormund Crow” and “Lady Alayne Snow” for reasons that should become immediately obvious to the reader. This volume is selected from the scores of translations that have been done over the years by the many professors and top students of the school (despite the ban on publishing them, translations of these documents in particular have been a wildly popular practice among staff and students for centuries). The editors of this volume have, after going through the entire catalogue of material, selected what we’ve deemed the best and truest translations of these letters for this collection. For the purposes of clarity, not only have we decoded the original text, we’ve replaced the pseudonyms used with their real names (save for in cases where the couple used nicknames for one another)._

_While the content of these pieces has long been deemed “obscene” and “disrespectful” by various standards and practices boards, it is the opinion of the University of Winterfell that contained within these letters are declarations that, while undoubtedly erotic and oft-times off-color, often display a great amount of intelligence, love, and beauty. Through these letters, we can see hints of the development of this famous romance, and learn much about these esteemed figures’ thoughts and feelings. “Obscene” or not, these letters contain as much of their writers’ minds, souls, and hearts as the more “acceptable” love letters already published. It is our great pleasure to present them to you now._

~_~_~_~_~_~

Seventh Day of the Eight Moon, Three-Hundred and Six A.L.

To My Dearest Jon,

I’m still not entirely certain I am comfortable with this. I sit here now, at my desk, trying to think of how to delve into the sort of material you’ve asked me to write about. I do wish to be a good and dutiful wife to you, and do as you ask (within reason). And whatever I might do to relieve our loneliness when we are away from one another, I want to try. But this is… Not the sort of thing a lady does, even if she is a Lady Wife. However, I am your wife, and I shall try and translate the delight found in our bedchamber here. (Even writing that gets me to blush. So you must be tolerant with me if I am slow at this.)

But, at once, let me assure you, my prince, that I am NOT, as you suggested when you proposed this, writing this naked, nor am I doing it right after touching myself. I see no point. The door to my solar isn’t barred, and the maids have a key to the lock. I do not see the point of risking having them see me in such a state just for the sake of nudity you cannot even see. I am dressed in a regular plum wool.

Also, right after I have reached my peak (and during the process of reaching it), I hardly find myself in the proper state of mind for composing a letter. It’s hard to think three words, let alone a proper sentence.

Instead, I touched myself in bed last night. I will tell you about that.

I did not at first do it naked, but beneath the furs on our bed and in my linen nightrail. This may sound disappointing to you, but I assure you I had a reason beyond prudery. With the exception of that time on your Name Day and on our wedding night after the bedding, our encounters have not started with me completely naked. Almost always,  we’ve started touching and kissing before we’ve removed all our clothes. I blush to admit I like the feeling of you undressing me in a lust-filled frenzy. I wished to imagine it. So I conjured up a mental image of you at first, and began fantasizing about you turning over in bed, kissing me deep, running your hands through my hair, and stroking me through the linen of my nightgown.

Don’t fret: you and I got my clothes off soon enough. I thought about you lifting my skirts and remarking on how my fluids had already soaked my smallclothes, as you often do. (I don’t think this is fair always. I don’t joke about you tenting your smallclothes. And yet, I still enjoy it.)

I’m afraid that I can’t give you the most coherent narrative from here. My fantasies aren’t always too realistic. As I touched myself and imagined, sometimes you were on top of me, sometimes I was on top, sometimes it was from behind. There were a couple of points where you were tasting me. I miss your mouth, Jon. I miss you.

It took me a while to reach my pleasure without you there. But to be honest, I had forgotten about enjoying the act of pleasuring myself. I suppose I am glad you’ve convinced me to start again, even if it for this purpose. I had done it rarely before we wed, and stopped after as I imagined it was a betrayal of some sort. Thank you for correcting me on this.

I hope you do not hold it against me, enjoying this so much. I miss you. I want you back here with me. But I didn’t mind dreaming up some things on my own.

I love you, Sweet Husband.

All of my love,

Sansa

Fifteenth Day of the Eighth Moon, 306 A.L.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

To My Most Wicked “Lady” Wife, Sansa,

Congratulations, Sweetling. I’m so proud of you. And I’m touched (in more ways than one). I have to admit, when I suggested this to you, I half-expected you to slap me into unconsciousness. Even after you said you’d try, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get a letter. But I should learn by now to stop underestimating you. It seems you’re not the type to pass up any opportunity to prove your courage, regardless of how filthy it is. I love you for that.

Forgive me if my language here proves offensive, my love, but I am so very, very thrilled by your letter. Maybe you don’t think so now, but I think this could be the start of something wonderful.

Your letter arrived last night, it is now midday and I have, if you pardon the admission, have tugged myself off thrice reading it.   
(I’ve probably horrified you already. But keep in mind that I DID warn you that if you sent me something, you’d receive things like that back).

I won’t give you the details of the actual act (I imagine that me pleasuring myself isn’t quite as beautiful an image as you doing the same), but I don’t mind telling you what I thought of while I did it. Indeed, I want to tell you. I want you to think about it, and touch yourself as you do, and add whatever you like, and write to me about it.

I thought about how much I missed you. That creamy skin. That red hair. Those pretty little teats of yours (tied for second with your lips as the place I most like to place my mouth). Those long legs. What’s between them (easily my favorite place to put my mouth). To be honest, though most of our encounters don’t start with you completely naked, I wouldn’t mind if more did. Do not mistake me, I love removing your clothing as much as you do, but still… I doubt there is a man alive who wouldn’t want to return to his bedchamber to find his wife naked and waiting for him. You look every bit as glorious in nothing as you do in your most expensive silks and jewels.

By the way: my tongue misses you right back, you filthy girl. It misses your teats, your skin, your mouth, your cunt. I do wonder though: do you miss my cock, too? You said in your other, “respectable” letter [Editor’s note: Reference to the official, properly addressed message that the then-Princess Sansa sent the then-Prince Jon on 7/8/306]  that you miss other parts of me and various things I do and say, but you mentioned nothing about my cock and what I do with it in that letter either. My cock misses you horribly and probably would feel awful if it thought it wasn’t missed back. I may have to comfort it some more.

For the record, my love, I’m not too concerned about “coherency” in regard to what you imagine while you frig yourself. Like you, when I imagined us, we were in all manner of positions, including some that I am not sure are even physically possible (we’ll have to see upon my return).

At one point, your letter inspired a fantasy about my homecoming. In which you didn’t bother greeting me because you’d been so overcome with lust from our letters that you’d locked yourself in your bedchamber for days, just touching yourself. I burst in to find you on edge, naked in bed, sweating and twisted up in the furs. Then I yank you over so your hips are at the edge of the bed and I take you roughly then and there, you clinging to me, running your nails down my back (the sweetest hurt, my love, please stop apologizing when you do that. You shouldn’t be saying sorry but “You’re Welcome”) and crying my name.

I swear to the Old Gods and New (I might even be willing to swear to R’hollor), when I return, we will not leave our bedchamber for a fortnight. Don’t you dare scold me for it, either. We’ve not yet produced an heir, so we’ll only be doing our duty to the Iron Throne and Winterfell.

Even law dictates that I worship you and your perfect little cunt as much as possible. The fate of an entire nation depends on me doing it often and right. So if you think these letters are somehow “wrong”, my love, think about how important our lovemaking is. Think of how we were brought together against so many odds, and how much rides on me riding you (properly). Now, why would any of that be if it wasn’t a fact that the gods themselves prioritize the frequency and quality of our fucking? In those interests, these letters can only be a good thing.

So please, Sweetling, write. Tell me, in no uncertain terms, how best to fuck you. Every detail. Every desire.

It is our duty to communicate as much filth as possible. And we are both nothing if not dutiful, my wife.

In the interests of doing my duty, by the way, I feel it is necessary to inform you that at one point, I imagined us eating lemon cakes off of one another. Please frig yourself immediately upon reading this, then write back as soon as you can how this fantasy works for you (somehow I imagine it may do the trick).

I’m afraid I must stop here or I may get carried away and overwhelm you.

Please know how much I love you, Sweet Sansa, you miracle of a woman.

Jon

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Twenty-ninth day of the Eighth Moon, 306 AL

To My Wicked and Suddenly Very Verbose Husband, Jon,

You have some nerve calling me “wicked” and “filthy” after a letter like that, my lord. Everyone always jokes about how you guard your words like a miser guards his gold, but that may have been among one of the longest letters you’ve ever sent. People also say you’re as morose as a Silent Sister. Yet I can’t recall ever witnessing so many jests from you.

I am ashamed to admit how much I enjoyed them. I wish you’d joke more.

I do not have much time to write (we’ve been busy here, as you know). But I thought I’d take the time to do what you asked me to do. I will follow this letter up with all the details you requested but in short: I think lemon cake batter in certain areas might be better (though not between my legs under any circumstances. Yours, however…)

I’m afraid both of us have to leave our rooms, as dutiful as our activities there might be.

You have a filthy mind, Jon Targaryen. I’m not afraid of reading more of it anymore.

If you wish to have a lemon cake while servicing yourself to my letters, I would not mind terribly. Just promise me you’ll bring some lemons home with you.

Also: bring home some silk and velvet ribbons and some of the fine Myrish scented oils they sell in King’s Landing (tell Satin to go and buy them, he’ll know which ones I mean). I might have plans for them.

Oh, and since you’re so desperate to hear it… Yes, I very much miss that part of you too.

My Love,

Sansa (A Lady, not a “Lady”. Don’t you forget it.)


End file.
